Prologue
by ocoa
Summary: The start of the end. Or, what if Scotland had achieved its independence in the poll?


**I have wanted to do this for so long, since I first saw it on this site. Here is a Hetalia/Harry Potter crossover!**

* * *

There were many things that one could call this moment.

Historical, perhaps? Maybe a tragedy. The fall of a great nation and the potential rise of another. The third act, the curtain call of the play that was the United Kingdom. Such was, and is.

Scotland had voted, and England supposed that as much as his chest had the ache of a heart broken, he was too old for this. He had already lived past his lifetime, had already fought for too long. His brother left, and that was that.

It served England right to feel so much, it wasn't befitting of one who ruled the seas to feel for those on land.

The dissolvation act was signed, his kingdom torn from its seams, and Arthur watched as his people cried in mourning, and his siblings' in joy.

He let his eyes move over the crowd, blinking as it rested upon Scotland. The man stared back with the same apathy, and yet different in its disbelief. England blinked, before nodding and leaving, following to walk behind his Queen and Prime Minister. Victoria gave him a passing glance, her wizened eye catching his knowingly. She patted his back, a show of comfort.

Such was life, England must live on, and so must his Queen.

Even if her Kingdom is no longer there.

* * *

The news shook all communities, from the muggles at the top to the wizards at their lowest. Glued to the television, Harry Potter and his family let out a long sigh, sharing glances.

The world was going to change from now on, they realised.

James set his hand on his mother's, a worried frown on his face as he gave a passing glance to his sister.

This may not be good news, especially when one was just about to start school.

* * *

The world only kept changing from then. England quickly left the European Union, seeking independence, finding hilarity in the irony as he resigned from his position at the Union. Scotland stayed, as did Wales, and North had achieved her dream and rejoined her brother at the throne. Everyone was happy, or so it seemed until the day England disappeared from the G8, leaving only a resignation and a country closed off.

Isolationism, though it wasn't much a new concept, even in the 21st century, seemed extremely strange for the democratic country.

The others couldn't find out why, couldn't even enter the country. With his cross-Union citizenship revoked, even France couldn't pass, and his demands to meet the Prime Minister was only met with a sad and reluctant smile as the new Minister told him to leave.

"Why?" He demanded, and it just so happened that America was there and stepped in.

"Tell England that if he doesn't show his face we'd force our way in," the country growled, face serious for the first time in many decades.

The promise of nuclear annihilation made Theresa May pale, but she shook her head. "It's not that we don't want to let you see him," she muttered, before blinking and realising her slip up.

The two countries catch on quick and glare at her.

"What do you mean? Where's Artie?"

The woman shook her head, looking helplessly at her Guards as she stepped back.

"It is not under your jurisdiction to pursue this issue-"

"So there is an issue!"

"No- I- please leave, gentlemen, you are not welcome here."

"Where is he? Where is Arthur?"

"Please, I would like to ask you to leave."

"Don't bother distracting us with your bullshit, where is he?"

"He's gone."

"Stop telling- what?"

The two countries blink at her, owl eyed in surprise. France rounded around to her, eyes flaring in a glare. "What do you mean he's gone?"

The woman's hands shook, but her visage stayed steely. "It is as I say, England has taken vacation, but we are unable to contact him."

"Unable to- go find him!" America sputtered.

"We have, every day since the 25th in fact, the day we find his Guards paralysed and him missing. However, we are under strict orders from England himself to keep people like you out. We would like to ask you to respect his wishes and-"

A car rolled back behind them at the border, and the door was opened to reveal a familiar red headed man, his beard a 5 o' clock shadow framing his jaw. He adjusted his suit as he left the car, but even his facade of cool and ruggedness can't hide the darkness around his eyes and the paleness of his skin.

"Where's the little bastard?" He demanded May as she shirked at the attention.

"As I was telling your colleagues," she spat out, bitter, "he is no longer here. We have contacted those who can-"

"What do you mean he's not here?"

"He's been reported missing since the 25th of December. We have our best searching for him."

Scotland's eyes blow wide and no one can control the flinch as he swore aloud.

"Shit, it's been four days, why didn't you contact us?"

"Well, it isn't like we're obligated to any longer."

There was a stiff silence, and Scotland's eyes flashed with red, and his hand fell to his side like he would if he had a gun at his side. The tension was electric, with May glaring in defiance at the Scot. France took a step forward.

Scotland swore again, eyes shadowed as he whipped out a phone, dialling quickly.

"Hey Wales you want to get back here. The idiot's gone. I think..." he glanced back at France and America, before cursing softly.

"I think Voldemort's back."

* * *

England wakes as Arthur, dressed in a familiar uniform, his fingers numbed against the burn of rope and his head aching in a way that spoke of depression and late nights alone in his apartment and the bitter taste of drink and bile on his tongue. It was also the after effects of a spell he remembers…fondly.

He blinks, and can feel the coursing of blood of an Englishman in the shadows, feel it pulsing against his, a frequency that is humming in his ears. It was startlingly obvious when his vision clears that he was no longer as powerful as he was before when he sees the ten other people in front of him, all non-Englishmen.

Even when he's half-conscious from the ache in his head he smirks.

"Good evening gentlemen, how may I assist you?"

The Englishman bends down in front of him, smile all teeth and leering eyes.

"You look so much like he had described…"

The boy's voice is dreamy, and it sends shivers down his spine. England frowns.

"As much as you flatter me, I still do not quite understand the purpose of my being here."

"Yes you do."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, indeed he did. He sighed.

"Well, I cannot do as you ask me."

The boy, Elio his mind supplies, stands.

"Don't worry, you need not do a thing." He leant in, hands tracing Arthur's cheek. "Rest now, we will prepare everything for you."

Behind him, a wand shines yellow-green.

* * *

 **fun fact:** **England decides to move into an apartment because his house is too big.**

 **He grows his roses on his balcony, so he's fine. (if you count stress gardening fine)**


End file.
